


Elven rope

by Ethereal_Soul



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: It's a little angst, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Rated T because of rope, because the rings is BAD, bittersweet end, but I personally think it's happy, but Sam helps and Frodo likes it, but tender, feeding too I guess, not sexual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28998366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ethereal_Soul/pseuds/Ethereal_Soul
Summary: ‘Never travel far without a rope! And one that is long and strong and light. Such are these. They may be a help in many needs.’
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Elven rope

If his old gaffer could read his mind he'd disown him. Sam knew he should not develop feelings for Frodo, he should not consider him as a friend, he should not let his mind address him as Frodo without the customary deference.

It's not that sir and mister did not come easy on his lips. It was second nature, having spent so long close to the Baggins and listening all Hobbiton call him Mr. Frodo. But when you love someone, in the quiet of the night, your mind doesn't want to call them that. You want a special name, you want the privilege to address them with endearments. Sam just called him Frodo. 

That night, lying awake besides him, pretending to be asleep, he'd have mental conversations with Frodo. Not Mr. Frodo. Not for the first time he had to witness another sleepless night of the ring bearer. He'd see Frodo talk to himself, or to the voices inside his head, to whatever evil disturbed his peace. And in his mind he'd call him Frodo, he'd invite him close, he'd touch his face, he'd sing him to sleep. And Frodo would accept, gladly.

Only Mr Frodo would not. Whenever he spoke about him needing sleep and food, when he made his concerns heard, he'd receive a "go to sleep, Sam" and fear being pushed away if he insisted. He had to see Frodo bear the weight of the world and do nothing.

But still, it was Frodo. His old Gaffer would never know that every night he wished he was heard, he wished Frodo would listen to him and take care of himself. 

The worse nights were the ones Frodo would talk to himself. If you didn't pay attention to the words, you could think he was casting a spell. He'd speak in a feverish tone, he would barely move. He had mentioned how heavy was to carry the ring, the effort it took not to surrender to its call. And that Sam could do nothing to help him. Not with that.

Sam would escape into fantasy realm. He saw mister Frodo awake and he'd think very loudly how his Frodo would accept his assistance, how Frodo would eat, sleep and stop berating Sam for wishing him well. He'd imagine a place where the ring was just a ring and it didn't mean a constant internal battle for him. Only then he'd sleep.

On that night, lady Galadriel made him a visit. Even though he'd seen her few days before and her image was clear in his head, he could not properly remember the dream itself. It felt as a recollection of her farewell to them. That was another reminder for him to know where he belonged. His Gaffer would say the lady was wise, for it was not for a Gamsee to have a sword, a bow or the light of star as gift. Rope should put him in his place. Right when he was beginning to feel part of the group, of the educated and skillful fellowship, he got rope. At least it was light. It was no burden to carry. It should be strong too, Sam assumed, because an elf must have threaded it.

All he saw when he opened his eyes was Frodo's back. His breathing short and fast as if he was in battle. That meant he was awake. Of what use could it be the gift he had received? 

He called for Frodo and had no reply. He should be lost in thought, or on the verge of madness. So he went to check on him. What he saw didn't surprise him as much as it saddened him. Frodo had his hands on the ring, he was looking at it as if wondering whether or not to put it on. 

Sam kneeled before him and grabbed his fists. Frodo fought back and cursed but eventually looked at Sam and came back to himself. He had tears in his eyes. Either from sadness or anger. Sam knew words would be of no use. He knew he'd hear the same things all over again about how useless were his attempts to help. But he had to do something. He chose to ignore the gaffer's voice in his mind, the ways a hobbit like him should behave, and he went down for a hug. He put his arms around Frodo so tight so he'd never loose him. 

Frodo, my Frodo, please let me help. Please don't push me away. I'll fight this thing on your neck with my bare hands if I have to. Don't listen to what it says, listen to me. Listen to your Sam.

But the words never left his throat. Instead, his arms held Frodo tighter and his breath was deeper and deeper as he contained himself not to cry. 

He didn't know how long took the embrace, but when he released Frodo he seemed calmer even if exhausted. All Hobbiton would frown at him for his indiscretion, but he dared more and put Frodo's head on his lap. Frodo did not protest. Tonight, Frodo was closer to what Sam would daily imagine, he was reacting as Sam wished. 

When Sam touched Frodo's hair and felt the soft curls he'd be transported again to his mind where he'd sing Frodo to sleep. He'd sing for the spirits of the forest to guard him and protect him, for a dreamless night of sleep. And so for all night Sam had Frodo close to him and his words, despite not coming from his mouth, spoke as loudly as they could to reach Frodo's heart. 

At times, even while asleep, Frodo's hand would reach for the ring. Sam would take Frodo's hand on his but keep it close to the ring. He'd do what he had to to avoid Frodo's fall.

Dawn arrived and Sam was awake still. He'd tented his cloak as to cast a shadow over Frodo's face so he would not awake with the early sunlight. And because of that Sam's bottom went numb of being seated for so long, his hands cramped and he'd no longer feel his tights. But Frodo slept. For the first night and morning in weeks he slept. 

He woke up slowly. If he was startled he didn't show. He smiled to Sam in gratitude. He didn't complain they'd lost the first hours in the morning of their walk. Sam found all the food that was not lembas he'd still have and prepared some. Frodo ate. Not enough, to Sam's standards, but he did. 

When night feel again they set themselves to rest. Images of the night before came into Sam's mind but he didn't mention. He'd like to be close again but he was tired. He hadn't slept. He'd have to be content with Frodo facing him. Pretending to be asleep, but facing him nonetheless. He woke up to Frodo calling his name. 

Angst in his eyes, he seemed to struggle as the night before. At least he had called Sam. That was some progress. Even if Sam was unsure of what to do. And then he heard the elf's voice in his mind. 

‘Never travel far without a rope! And one that is long and strong and light. Such are these. They may be a help in many needs.’

Sam sat up and went for his backpack. The elven rope was there. Gray and light, long and strong. It's simplicity would have to do the job. Sam approached Frodo and touched his face so he'd look at him. He then touched his arms and slowly slipped his hand close to Frodo's forearms. He nudged him so he'd let go of the ring and have his arms to his back, while lying on his side. Sam took the elven rope and carefully tied it to one of Frodo's wrists. He went to the second wrist and then tied the rope between both of them for safety. 

There was plenty of rope left. Sam thought about tying his feet, as his knees were bent, to the rope of his hands. He'd not have Frodo run out of madness or intent. But they were in a forest still, and many dangers may demand quick legs to flee. So Sam took the remaining rope with him. He went back to his sleeping place and placed the rope under his own body. He faced Frodo who was quiet, no murmuring or talking to himself tonight, and touched his shoulder. 

I am here, he meant to say, I'm here for you. "You can rest now, Mr. Frodo," is what came from his lips instead. Frodo did not close his eyes to sleep but neither did he fight the elven rope. The rope was tight, but it's touch was softer than horse mane. It felt like silk upon the skin, for Frodo's heart was good and the evil did not come from it. Frodo kept his gaze upon Sam's eyes until Sam himself feel asleep. Until then, Sam didn't want to go to his fantasy realm. He knew that Frodo, despite being awake, was himself tonight and a while ago had even called his name. He knew that if the ring spoke too loud Frodo could not reach it without waking Sam. 

Frodo's mind was a place of his own, and there Sam could not follow. But Frodo's hands and mouth were at Sam's reach and that made him feel safe. In the morning he got Frodo to drink water and have some bites of lembas bread. He had Frodo sit and wait while he fetched it among their provisions. He had Frodo chew each bite before swallowing. He didn't make him eat more than he could, but he certainly made him eat more than he would by himself. 

After that he untied him. Sam placed his warm hands where Frodo's arms were sore and then helped him up. They walked as usual. Sometimes they spoke of the things they used to to distract their minds, but did not mention the elven rope. At luncheon time Frodo complained he didn't need anymore food. After days eating only one bite, it was no surprise. But Sam sat to eat and Frodo would not keep walking without him. They had no energy to argue so Sam insisted only once. After that he went close to where Frodo was, sitting on a tree stump, and put the elven rope on his lap. Frodo felt the feather weight of its threads and looked at Sam whose eyes threatened him. Not harshly, of course. There was love in his intent and tenderness on his hands. He cut the lembas and let him eat by himself. He should be able to do it.

The following days were not much different. By night, Sam no longer pictured him calling Frodo, he'd not dream of Frodo accepting his help. Now, he'd think of what he could do on the next day to cheer Frodo up. Food, water and sleep had improved his mood, but he still felt distant at times. He'd not hold a conversation for long, although he would listen to Sam's tales and memories of the Shire. He'd never mention him complying to Sam's nudges or what he thought before he slept. But the dark circles under his eyes were lighter and Sam expected so would be his burden.

Sometimes, however, Frodo would twitch so much in his sleep that Sam would wake up. He knew it did not come from the rope. If anything, Frodo was calmer when he had it on. They'd tried different knots and lacing his arms. Once, after an agitated attempt to sleep, Sam had gathered Frodo's folded arms close to his chest so he could not move to reach the ring even if he tried to. He tied his legs so he'd be balanced and quiet in fetal position. When Frodo would murmur in his sleep or before, Sam would come closer and touch his cheeks with his thumb. He was self conscious his skin was not as soft as Frodo's so he'd touch his scalp, or his clothed shoulders. 

Once, after a particularly difficult night, he kissed Frodo's forehead when he woke up. He didn't want to be apart from him, but would not dare touch him on daylight, so he put the elven rope arround Frodo's waist, let loose some and tied the rest on his own body. That was the first time he felt the rope on his own skin. It was soft, it did not do them harm. It was a silver thread connecting them, building the bridge their words never dared to. They were in synch.

When the stars made their appearance, Sam did not want to let go of it. He did not want to untie Frodo's waist to bind his arms. So that night, instead of lying facing Frodo, Sam lay behind him. Instead of having his grip on his hands, Sam touched Frodo's chest. He kept the ring there, but if he wanted to put it on he'd have to do so over Sam's dead body. Frodo did not complain, although he clinched Sam's hand so hard it left a bruise. 

The one night Frodo did not sleep at all concerned Sam. He was proud he was feeling closer to Frodo, proud Frodo would not berate him. So when Frodo began to fight Sam and try to let loose of the rope he got scared. He'd speak ill of Sam, he'd say his efforts were to waste because nothing he'd do would stop the ring from talking to Frodo and nothing could come between the ring bearer and the ring itself. He'd try to touch the ring with his face with all the strength he could muster. He even bit Sam that night. Sam saw the mouth of his Frodo tainted with his blood, he saw the eyes that often stared at him now taken by some evil will. 

The sun did not bring relief. Frodo falted. He yelled and shouted he'd not destoy the ring. It was too strong and he could not do it. He wanted to quit, to go back to Rivendel and leave the elves to it. Sam knew not how orcs or worse folk did not come upon them. But they did not. Sam had the elven rope to pin Frodo on a tree. Frodo did not run. Not because he didn't want to but because he could not. The rope was strong. 

Sam was not as strong. When he left with the excuse to fill their water storage, he cried. It had been a while since he had done so. Before, he wouldn't mind too much Frodo seeing him. But that one on the tree was not Frodo, It was not his Frodo. When he was under the power of the ring he'd complain about the rope. He once said it burned him and Sam was scared he was hurting him. But Sam spoke him soft words and reminded him of who he was and of their quest. He reassured him he'd never leave his side. Frodo calmed down. The burning against his skin had been just a fleeting moment to remind him of the truth of his heart. The rope was soft again as soon as Frodo regained his inner confidence he was not the one the ring claimed him to be. He could still fight the rope but it it's resistance did not burn like fire.

When Sam came back from crying he found Frodo limp against the tree. He apologized. He didn't remember what he could have said to him so he apologized. Sam untied him. 

The feeling of Frodo's arms arround him was unexpected. The warm tears he felt on the base of his neck reminded him of his younger sister when she came home with a brusied knee. Sam reciprocated the embrace. His eyes wet and bright with the few tears he still had left to cry. They vowed to finish their quest, to take the ring to Mordor and see it melt. 

But Sam, having witnessed several mood shifts, tied one end of the rope to Frodo's wrist and the other to his own and headed to the stream nearby. He poured cold water on Frodo's swollen face and on his own and gently dried it with a cloth. He made him drink some water and sit by the stream. Sam took Frodo's feet in his hands and dived them into the water. He wet the cloth and wiped Frodo's feet until he could see the skin often hidden beneath the dirt. He let them rest on his lap until they were fully dry and they returned to their path.

A step at a time, Sam shortened the rope between them. Soon his hand could accidentally brush Frodo's. But it didn't. When he thought about this, his olds thoughts came back to the surface. He'd remember himself dwelling upon what to call Frodo and whether what he felt would be improper, developing feelings by someone he shouldn't direct feelings towards. But he knew then, that when he tied Frodo tight at night, when he had his body close to his, when he spoke as to soothe him, it did not matter the name or the words he spoke. They were connected and maybe, only maybe and in Sam's rare dreams, Frodo would be glad Sam was with him.


End file.
